


In the Evening

by SecondSilk



Category: House M.D.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:03:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/104804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSilk/pseuds/SecondSilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One evening, while living together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Evening

**Author's Note:**

> Beta-ed by Topaz_Eyes.  
> Originally posted April 2006.

The end of a long week found Wilson beside House on his couch. It was still House's apartment, but the pronoun on the couch was becoming ambiguous. Wilson hadn't cooked, so House had ordered Chinese. They ate while watching some bland drama and making snide comments about it.

House liked to relax by giving Wilson a running commentary on the characters' hidden motives. And Wilson liked to watch the way House pointed at the screen with his chopsticks. House found such fun in watching people, particularly when they couldn't talk back to him. He moved constantly, a twitch in his fingers, crossing and uncrossing his legs, as though the physical movement were indicative of his thought processes.

But now Wilson found himself trying to work out when exactly he had started to notice the minute details of House's behaviour. It usually worked as a survival strategy and allowed him to ignore the general waves of House's pain-affected mood, but it seemed something more, now.

"You've grown quiet," House told him, as a gentle accusation.

Wilson figured that maybe he'd forgotten to laugh at something. House raised an eyebrow, asking for an explanation, and Wilson ate a mouthful of his dinner.

"I'm trying to remember this girl's name," Wilson told him, chewing on his beef. "Sarah, leukaemia, one of those kids who has never known anything else. She had a whole collection of light bulb jokes."

House sat up straighter, his expression promising that he was interested. Wilson knew House knew every light bulb joke already, there couldn't be any Sarah knew that House did not, but Wilson enjoyed the attention anyway, and the way House focused on him rather than what he was saying. House already knew the jokes, anyway.

"She could tell them, too," Wilson said, "even the ones she didn't get, like the train drivers."

House looked at him expectantly. Wilson sighed.

"How many train drivers does it take to change a light bulb?"

House grinned, "Ten," he said. "One to hold the bulb and the other nine to drink until the room spins."

Telling House jokes was not like telling them to other people. And it was nice not have to remember the punch lines. Wilson grinned.

"How many real estate agents does it take to change a light bulb?"

"Also ten," House answered promptly. "But I'll take eight."

Wilson chuckled despite himself. House ate another smug mouthful of his chicken before he put his bowl down and turned back to the television. Wilson's laughter faded as he watched the side of House's face. He knew what House looked like, had seen his profile many times before. But this was the clichéd moment of realisation when he really looked at House. More importantly he was aware that this was all he cared about, the way House's eyes narrowed at characters' stupidity, the way his mouth moved when he smirked. This was the strangest thing that had ever happened to Wilson, even compared to all the other strange things that House had made him do. House hadn't even done anything this time, and yet Wilson was feeling reckless enough to lean in and kiss him.

House glanced briefly at him, looking at him out of the corner of his eye while still facing the television.

"You're staring, Wilson."

"And you're stating the obvious. What's wrong?"

House turned his head to face Wilson.

"Something has to be 'wrong?'" he asked.

The emphasis on the last word gave the question nuances Wilson wasn't sure he was alert enough to deal with, or care about.

"That depends on your definition, I suppose. I'm beginning to worry for you."

"Oh, Jimmy, I'm touched," House said.

There may have genuine sentiment in there, but mostly he sounded sarcastic. Pissed off at being condescended to.

"Oh, don't worry," Wilson told him blithely, "It's entirely self interested. I do live here."

House frowned, still watching him like knowing what he was going to do next was the most important thing in the world, and Wilson felt suddenly weak, like someone had poured warm milk down his back. He carefully put his chopsticks together in his bowl and moved it from his lap to the coffee table. House was still looking at him as he leaned back against the couch, his expression was caught between curiosity and disappointment.

Wilson scowled back. His only reaction to discovering that he was going to kiss his best friend was to clear his cutlery and House had the nerve to be disappointed. Okay, there may be a little panicking involved now, but that was perfectly understandable, and Wilson wasn't tempted to run away. Of course, House always had ridiculously high standards for everyone; it was part of his charm.

"Wilson," House said, clearly scolding him for not acting promptly.

Wilson blinked and House was there, too close to see properly, close enough that Wilson could feel House's breath against his cheek. Wilson closed the last distance between them, kissing House gently. House kissed him back slowly, carefully, like maybe it wouldn't happen again and he had to remember it.

Wilson grabbed House, fingers brushing over his cheeks and tangling at the nape of his neck. He kissed House again, fiercely this time, teeth catching on House's lower lip and their tongues curling around each other. House's hands came to rest on Wilson's shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

They pulled back only to breathe. House licked his lips and Wilson thought that he might not be able to stand up.

"So, does the hypothesis hold?" House asked.

"Which one were we testing?"

"There's something wrong?"

"We're talking instead of having sex?" Wilson suggested.

"That is definitely a problem," House agreed.

He pushed himself to his feet and strode unevenly across the room to his bedroom. Wilson watched House walk, admiring the confidence of the way he moved. He almost couldn't understand what was happening, but House paused at the doorway and looked back at him, smiling. It was a dare that never failed to draw Wilson in. Wilson stood, still a little shaky, and followed House.


End file.
